A Tale of Traveling Woe
by poorbasil
Summary: A story I wrote for Latin class: Ulyssess and crew time travel and end up in the 17thc Dutch colony of New Netherlands.


Before our hero, Ulysses, fleed from the witch Circe, the wise woman warned him against sailing out into the treacherous open seas with an impending storm on the horizon. The battle-worn hero did not yield to the mystic's advice, believing instead that she was just attempting to covertly tempt him to stay on the island with her. Ulysses waved off the woman and set sail with what was left of his crew and the ever-faithful Telemachus.

Whether Ulysses' decision was due to his immense pride and stubbornness, or actual worries, one will never know. What is known, however, is that the once-looming storm reached full force by the time Ulysses had sailed out into the open and proved to overpower his sturdy vessel. The men tried their best to tie down any loose articles and to throw any insignificant rubbish overboard, yet the vigorous squall prevailed. Ulysses' ship was sucked in by a forceful twist of wind, sucked out of existence, and sucked into a wormhole of darkness.

* * *

><p>Ulysses was distraught to discover upon exiting the wormhole that many of his men had mysteriously perished, even though there were no lingering bodies on the deck. "Ho!" announced the stalwart Telemachus as he gestured to a far off point. Ulysses' eyes widened as he followed his son's gaze: behold! Land. For this was odd, because before they were sucked into the wormhole, there was no earth in sight for as far as the eye could see. Some men steered the vessel to a bustling port and secured the ropes to the docking area.<p>

A mass of people in strange clothes had huddled close to Ulysses and Telemachus by the time they exited their ship and set foot on this foreign land.

Fearing a disguised British invasion, agents of the Dutch West India Company seized the grotesque alien men and impounded their ship. Unbeknownst to the foreign Ulysses, he and his crew had unintentionally arrived in the 17th century Dutch colony of New Netherlands.

Although he was being manhandled by strangers, Ulysses tried to retain at least a tad of chivalry and attempted to explain to the barbarians that he was a lost Greek man, trying to find his way back to his home in Ithaca and the love of his life, Penelope. Obviously though, the agents were just mere money-minded merchants, not educated folks, and definitely not well versed in ancient Greek language, so Ulysses effort of justification was wasted on them. They brought the eccentric Ulysses and crew to their colonial governor, the mighty Peter Stuyvesant, for questioning.

Now, much has been speculated about governor Stuyvesant. Some desire for him to burn in hell, while others pray nightly for his well-being. Nevertheless, no matter what the citizens' personal opinion of the man was, none could deny that he's a commanding, a dominating, and above all, a fear-provoking challenger. However, even those select few who had been granted the privilege of Stuyvesant's intimacy did not know his secret. The Dutchman was god-like in every sense of the word. He had been blessed with supernatural and outer-worldly powers that gifted him impressive intellect and surprising insight his enemies could only dream of. The Spanish feared him, the English hated him, for Peter Stuyvesant was a god on this earth.

Stuyvesant was naturally well versed in numerous languages due to his gift, and at once understood everything his dunderhead cronies did not. He commanded Ulysses and his men be released to his care. Ever the gentleman, Stuyvesant brewed a fresh pot of tea for his foreign guests and himself. Ulysses began to explain his thrilling story to the Dutchman. Once he was finished, he was out of breath and off-put, for Stuyvesant had not uttered a single word through the whole narrative. Ulysses looked to his crew; they nodded in agreement in what they considered to be affirmation of their captain's tale. All eyes were then on Stuyvesant. The god rose, still without saying a word, and outstretched his arm, offering his crusty hand to Ulysses to shake. Peace had been established.

For the next couple of months, Stuyvesant employed his most educated scholars to work with Ulysses and his crew to try and discover a way for them to return to his own time period. Although the governor had numerous colonial and overseas tasks to attend to, he unexpectedly maintained a relationship with vagabond Greek. He made sure that Ulysses and his men were provided with clean quarters to stay in and even insisted they have a bi-weekly attendant to ensure the dwellings were orderly. However, progress was slow, and sometimes, adverse events, that not even the god-like governor could foretell, can occur.

* * *

><p>Stuyvesant awoke early morning with an awful sense of foreboding lingering in the recesses of his astute mind. Unbeknownst to our favorite god, four British vessels from the King's Royal Navy that had set sail a few months ago were nearing their final destination.<p>

There was an unrelenting wind at the break of day that carried on to the afternoon, only increasing in ferociousness as the hours wore away. Ulysses and Stuyvesant were exiting the saloon together, the younger Telemachus was trailing behind them as they sauntered to the docks. "Behold!" a young dock worker exclaimed in astonishment, "Ships are on the horizon!" The last cargo ship had arrived days earlier with the needed supplies and such a large vessel was not due to appear in the Hudson docks for at least two months.

"It's the British!" someone shouted. Stuyvesant, who had his mouth open, about to inquire as to the young man's fretting, stopped dead in his tracks. The four British vessels loomed closer and closer as the minutes ticked. Every person around had quit whatever task they were up to and was just staring.

The Dutch colony was highly unprepared for a British invasion, very highly underprepared in fact. They would not stand a chance if battle ensued. Stuyvesant knew this. When the first of the British warships arrived, their captain, Col. Richard Nicolls stepped ashore, adorned in his military gear with a sheathed sword visible at his hip. The British King, Charles II, had gifted his brother, the Duke of York, the power to rule over New Netherlands, a power that was not the King's to gift. Nonetheless, the vexatious royal did what he desired. Stuyvesant wanted to resist violence at all costs, knowing all too well that it would end in tragedy. Ulysses, who was ignorant in 17th century politics, stood rigid at his friend's side. Although, ever the warrior, Ulysses knew an enemy when he saw one.

"We must fight!" he cried out, the honor and pride in his voice wass practically tangible; it almost gave the governor hope, almost. "Ulysses, my friend," Stuyvesant began, "we cannot! We are unprepar-" But the governor could not finish his sentence due to the events that were transpiring before his eyes.

The brave Ulysses had unsheathed his own sword and was locked in battle with Col. Nicolls. Ulysses' men randomly came out of the woodwork and broke off into sparring with other British sailors.

It was sailor against sailor, warrior against solider, British against Greek. A battle like this had never been witnessed before in the history of man. In horror and shock, in the center of it all, stood Governor Peter Stuyvesant.

"Take up arms, my friend!" yelled Ulysses as he heaved his ancient metal sword high above his imposing form and swung down with an intensity only a Greek warrior could muster. Stuyvesant was no coward, and he certainly was not stranger to battle; he decided on the spot to heed to the Greek's word. Telemachus, with all the carefulness one can muster in the height of battle, threw a spare sword to the governor. The Greeks and Dutch fought valiantly against their British foes.

It looked as though the tides were turning.

Literally.

The strong gusts of wind that had been plaguing the colony all day increased with a magnitude never seen before. The bluish-gray afternoon sky transformed into eerie black and muted slate. Clouds swirled around, appearing to be twisting in on themselves. No hint of sunlight could shine through the darkness, causing the once turquoise waters of the adored Hudson Bay to resemble a hapless pit of anguish. Rain began to pour down in torrents. It looked like the sky was collapsing all around the combat zone.

Ulysses paused, something a warrior in the mist of battle would consider a death warrant. He looked up at the pitch-black sky. Then, it hit him.

As the rain poured down in sheets around him, blurring his vision, the figure that was Ulysses stood up, looking taller than ever. This was it. This was what he was waiting for. This storm, it was a sign! It was telling him it's now or never. This, right now, was his one and only chance to travel back through the portal that brought him to this strange universe two months ago. This, right now, was his only chance of ever being able to see his love Penelope again.

A thousand thoughts were swimming through the Greek's mind as he stood in the field of war. "What about my friend Stuyvesant?!" he thought to himself. The man had shown him, Ulysses, a stranger in a foreign land, such kindness that none of the other's he's met on his quest have shown him before. A ripple of guilt swept through him. "I was the one to start this battle" he thought, the thought uncomfortably settling in the forefront of his mind.

Yet, he knew that this land, this era, was not his. He did not belong here, and he needed to get home. In that moment, Ulysses signaled his men in Greek to dash to their vessel. He didn't know how much longer the storm would last, and he knew he couldn't wait around to find out.

Peter Stuyvesant watched as the Greek allies scampered away onto their ship, abandoning the fight. Peter Stuyvesant watched as the man who he considered a true friend ran away in the height of a battle that _he_ started.

A British soldier encroached on Stuyvesant. His footsteps were just a whisper in the rain.

Thunder crackled in the sky above. The Greeks were all aboard their ship. There was no time to let the governor know what was happening. Ulysses knew he needed to go. Now.

Lightning struck the side of the Greek vessel as it propelled into the open waters.

A powerful shrill scream broke through the sound of the rain, piercing the air.

Ulysses instinctively whipped his head back, just in time to see the once choleric governor collapse to the ground and wither on the wet, cold dock.

A flash of white lightening illuminated the whole sky, lighting up the port, and in less than a millisecond, the Greek vessel disappeared.

* * *

><p>An old man stands on a worn dock. A large black tricorn hat creates a shadow over his head, shielding his unsightly face from the world. The year is 1672. The month is January. Wind whips across the air, causing the elderly man to shiver as it passes through his moth-bitten winter attire.<p>

The old man standing on the dock lifts his tired head to gaze out at the bay. He leans on his cane as he raises his head higher, remembering.

* * *

><p>Peter Stuyvesant barely had time to feel the loss of his Greek friend before he was overcome with pain as the British soldier struck him down and slashed off his leg. The last thing he remembered was a flash of white light before he succumbed to unconsciousness.<p>

* * *

><p>Peter Stuyvesant stands on the dock of the Hudson Bay and gazes out to sea. He lost his leg that faithful day, as well as his colony. The Dutch New Netherlands became the British New York.<p>

Stuyvesant usually spends his days on his farm with his two sons taking care of him. The ex-governor knows his days are coming to an end. He had to come back one last time. To remember his old life; to remember the extraordinary Greek man named Ulysses; to remember that final flash of white light and the sting of betrayal.


End file.
